“I will send somebody to take care of your mother
for the evening, and here is a crown with which you
may go and get food and medicine. Here is also
one of my tickets. Come to-night; that will admit
you to a seat near me.”

Overcome with joy, the child could scarcely express
his gratitude to the gracious being who seemed to
him like an angel from heaven. As he went out
again into the crowded street, he seemed to tread
on air. He bought some fruit and other little
delicacies to tempt his mother’s appetite, and
while spreading out the feast of good things before
her astonished gaze, with tears in his eyes, he told
her of the kindness of the beautiful lady.

An hour later, tingling with expectation, Pierre set
out for the concert. How like fairyland it all
seemed! The color, the dazzling lights, the flashing
gems and glistening silks of the richly dressed ladies
bewildered him. Ah! could it be possible that
the great artist who had been so kind to him would
sing his little song before this brilliant audience?
At length she came on the stage, bowing right and
left in answer to the enthusiastic welcome which greeted
her appearance.

A pause of expectancy followed. The boy held
his breath and gazed spellbound at the radiant vision
on whom all eyes were riveted. The orchestra
struck the first notes of a plaintive melody, and
the glorious voice of the great singer filled the vast
hall, as the words of the sad little song of the child
composer floated on the air. It was so simple,
so touching, so full of exquisite pathos, that many
were in tears before it was finished.

And little Pierre? There he sat, scarcely daring
to move or breathe, fearing that the flowers, the
lights, the music, should vanish, and he should wake
up to find it all a dream. He was aroused from
his trance by the tremendous burst of applause that
rang through the house as the last note trembled away
into silence. He started up. It was no dream.
The greatest singer in Europe had sung his little
song before a fashionable London audience. Almost
dazed with happiness, he never knew how he reached
his poor home; and when he related the incidents of
the evening, his mother’s delight nearly equaled
his own. Nor was this the end.

Next day they were startled by a visit from Madame
M—–. After gently greeting the sick
woman, while her hand played with Pierre’s golden
curls, she said: “Your little boy, Madame,
has brought you a fortune. I was offered this
morning, by the best publisher in London, 300 pounds
for his little song; and after he has realized a certain
amount from the sale, little Pierre here is to share
the profits. Madame, thank God that your son has
a gift from heaven.” The grateful tears
of the invalid and her visitor mingled, while the
child knelt by his mother’s bedside and prayed
God to bless the kind lady who, in their time of sorrow
and great need, had been to them as a savior.